


We’ll find a brand new

by verdantspace



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Blowjobs, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, Digital World, Future Fic, M/M, Mentions of Fingering, Pining, Porn with Feelings, You're Welcome, and lots and lots of sexual tension, laced in fake deep porn, mentions of rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdantspace/pseuds/verdantspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liquor, music, low inhibitions, the Digital World, and Taichi and Yamato are being watched by the moon.</p><p><i>“Whatever change is holding you back, tell me you believe in that.” —What a Feeling,</i> One Direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We’ll find a brand new

**Author's Note:**

> A piece I’ve been writing in between writing my joint paper—and it’s actually halfway done! Yay! This is my first ever post of explicit porn and I’m kind of...surprised of just how long this thing turned out. It’s almost 8k words of mostly porn and well, I hope you like it. Also apparently I’m a fan of fake deep porn with a penchant of writing my otps getting emo while having smex. Someone take microsoft word away from me before I go and write too much of it.
> 
> I've included the sex acts performed between Taichi and Yamato in the tags, so if one or some of them is triggering for you, then please do not proceed for your own good. Thank you very much!
> 
> Title taken from Keira Knightley's beautiful song, Lost Stars, and the quote is a snippet from What a Feeling by One Direction, which is the tune Yamato dances to. At least in my head lol. Enjoy, lovelies!
> 
> P.S. I deleted my old tumblr blog because of reasons and made a new one. Come say hi and cry with me about Taiyama [@verdantspace](http://verdantspace.tumblr.com)

“Let’s dance.”

Taichi quirks his eyebrow at Yamato and notes that the blond has a pleasant flush on his face, the result of an impromptu drinking competition between them. He’s up to his neck in alcohol, probably, and his breath must smell a little stale, but he’s still the loveliest thing Taichi has ever seen.

He holds that train of thought and states the obvious. “There’s no music.”

Yamato clicks his tongue, fishing his phone out of his pocket and selecting the music app. Soon enough a tune starts playing, unusually loud in the clearing under Digital World’s sky.

“This is the 21st century, Yagami,” the blond drawls, “get with the program.”

Taichi laughs even though it’s not funny, noting that his fair share of drinking is starting to take effect. A logical part of his brain wants to argue that Yamato better save his phone’s battery, because his own is long dead and they need to wait for Koushiro to contact them, but Yamato chooses that moment to stand up and sways from side to side with easy grace—isn’t he supposed to be _drunk_?—and Taichi stops thinking altogether.

There’s no one around, obviously, and their isolation is doing lovely things to Yamato’s inhibition. Taichi gapes as the blond starts moving for real; hips following the beat of the bass, hands restless, fingers tracing his own hipbones, collarbones, the stretch of his neck. It looks like he’s worshipping his own body and the only thing Taichi can think of is how he could do so much better than that.

He’d put that body on an altar—beautiful and elaborately decorated, fitting for Yamato—and put his mouth and hands to good use. He’d worship him until the sky fell down, until stars appeared in Yamato’s eyes, until time didn’t matter and they both started to run wild. His breath catches when he realizes that he could do it all, right now. They’re in the Digital World, and time is theirs until it decides to start ticking again

He dreads and waits for Koushirou’s contact at the same time.

“Taichi.”

Yamato’s hoarse voice brings his attention back—how he could have averted his eyes, he wonders. It’s nighttime in the Digital World and the moon hangs half-mast in the sky. Its light bathes Yamato in rays of silver, and Taichi’s mind eye supplies him with images of the blond on Garurumon’s back, the beast and the human with the full moon as their background, deadly and beautiful and Taichi _yearns_. Garurumon isn’t here, though, and maybe the reason why the moon’s only half full is because it thinks Yamato incomplete.

Thoughts of Garurumon leave him as Yamato closes his eyes and dances again, murmuring words of the song under his breath, enraptured and oblivious to the storm building behind Taichi’s eyes. It turns out Yamato does notice him, after all, because when he rakes his hand through blond hair with a hungry expression directed Taichi’s way, the brunette feels something inside him crumble.

“Come here.”

The steadiness of his voice surprises even him, and Yamato’s eyes grow wide only for his pupils to dilate immediately after. His reaction makes Taichi’s insides roar. The blond walks—no, stalks—toward him in surprisingly steady steps, and Taichi opens his arms for him to fit into. Yamato threads his fingers through Taichi’s and slides his body to settle on his friend’s lap, fitting so well, like coming home.

He doesn’t stop undulating in time with the music. Taichi realizes that the song plays in an endless loop, repeating itself over and over again, wrapping around Yamato’s limbs and drugging him with a different kind of intoxication. Content to watch the blond dance, Taichi settles his hands on Yamato’s hip. Yamato’s breath catches before his face breaks into a hazy smile, brilliant and unreal.

“Come dance with me,” he demands, pulling at Taichi’s shoulders to urge him to move.

Taichi grins at him, “Can I do it with you still in my lap?”

The scowl looks out of place on Yamato’s face; blushed pink as it is with alcohol and exertion. “Fine, you lazy ass. I’m doing all the work.”

With that, he moves his hands to brace them on Taichi’s thighs, and his knees press more firmly to the ground. The lean muscles of his firm thighs distract Taichi long enough that he almost didn’t notice the blond leaning back further, tossing his head back and stretches—elongated torso and swan neck on display.

Taichi feels positively parched, and when he thinks it couldn’t get any better, Yamato proves him wrong. Taichi feels pressure where Yamato’s hands are, and it turns out he uses it for leverage to fucking _gyrate_ on Taichi’s lap, hips working tirelessly like he has a deadline to catch.

 _Like he’s chasing an orgasm,_ Taichi’s traitorous mind supplies.

Taichi swears his brain short-circuits. Fuck short-circuiting; Taichi feels his whole system shut down, because holy _fuck_ , Yamato’s good at this.

Even with his mind going stupid, he still somewhat registers the bulge on Yamato’s pants, and Taichi’s so fucking gone for him it’s not even funny.

“You’re hard,” Taichi states, barely aware of what he’s saying, and Yamato tosses his head forward, waxen locks falling in front of his eyes and lips parted a fraction. He proceeds to give him a blank stare. It’s a wordless mock, that stare, and it kind of ruins the whole tousled sex look for Taichi.

“No fucking shit,” Yamato grumbles, stopping his movements and Taichi wants to whine because he should _never_ stop dancing. The blond pushes his hair out of his face and settles in Taichi’s lap, strangely graceful and composed like it’s a thing best friends do, sitting on each other’s lap.

“I get hard when I dance, Taichi, you never notice?” He states, like that fact is something encyclopedic and Taichi should at least have basic knowledge of it.

“Uh-huh,” he replies dumbly, throwing caution to the wind and starts groping Yamato’s hipbones. They shift under his fingers when Yamato jumps as a reaction to his touch. _So it’s a sensitive spot,_ Taichi muses, _duly noted._

“You’re hard, too,” Yamato points out, his voice decidedly tinier than before.

Taichi is very aware of that and he grins, sheepish, “Yeah. Kinda hard not to, you know, with you lap dancing on me and everything.”

His brain to mouth filter really needs a thorough fixing, Taichi mourns.

To his surprise, Yamato only chuckles, breathless and amused. He sends a fond smile Taichi’s way, the one that makes Taichi’s stomach churn with an army of butterflies. The whole falling in love with your best friend thing should be justified if your best friend is _that_ pretty, he reasons.

“Want me to help?”

 _Is that an offer to relieve my boner, because it sure as hell sounds like one._ The voice in his brain is bordering on hysterics, but thankfully he doesn’t say it out loud this time.

“Um.”

“Fucking...” Yamato throws his hands in the air in exasperation, “I’m trying to—why won’t you make it easier for me, you daft moron.”

The insult registers faster than the context of Yamato’s whole sentence, and Taichi reflexively lets out an offended _heyyy_ before his brain catches up and wow, things escalate faster than what Taichi’s sanity can handle.

“That would be very much, um, appreciated,” he uses formal speech out of habit and _what the fuck, man,_ this isn’t an international conference, he chastises his brain.

Yamato looks somewhere between amused and horrified at his response, but he only shakes his head.

“Sometimes I still can’t believe that the government of Japan is entrusting you with international relations,” he cups Taichi’s cheek with long, calloused fingers and whispers, “the fate of the citizen is in the hands of Taichi Yagami, Japan’s Ambassador for Germany and negotiator extraordinaire.” Taichi decides that only Yamato can make a speech sounds fond and brutally sarcastic at the same time. “Not sure how I should feel about that.”

The taunt tweaks something inside of Taichi, and he squares his shoulder before tightening his hold on that slender waist. “Too bad you can’t do anything about that, can you, Yamato? You should just wait and sit with your hands under your ass like a good little _subject_.”

He’s almost sure that the dehumanizing comment should reward him a punch in the dick, at the very least, but Yamato only appears surprised for a split second before his face breaks in a feral grin. Taichi has never been harder his whole life.

“This isn’t the feudal age, _Mr. Ambassador_ ,” God, Yamato should call him by his title more often if he’s going to _moan_ it out like that every single time. “The things I can do to take you down...” A mocking laugh, “you can’t even begin to imagine.”

The endless interpretations of _take you down_ begin to swim inside of Taichi’s head, but somehow the dirty, sexual innuendos seem to take precedent over anything else. It’s a sign of his boner taking over his ability to think, Taichi notes.

“Hmm. I’d like to see you try, then,” is his somehow coherent reply, and he’s sure that Yamato’s eyes shouldn’t flash eagerly like that.

Yamato moves his body forward so they’re chest to chest, the fabric of Yamato’s black muscle shirt brushing against Taichi’s crisp—albeit a bit wrinkled—button down. He had just left his office when they suddenly got sent into the Digital World. He hasn’t asked what Yamato’s been doing, but the blond is comfortably dressed in a black muscle shirt and worn out sweatpants, so he most likely had been getting ready to bed before he was sucked into the Digital World.

Images of Yamato getting ready to bed are the last thing Taichi needs if he wanted to live the rest of his life in peace, to be quite honest.

Taichi also doesn’t comment on how Yamato’s late night diet consists of a six pack, because right now he’s grateful for the liquid courage they’ve provided. His best friend is about to get him off, for fuck’s sake. Sober Taichi Yagami would never have agreed to this, because he’s no longer that reckless kid who’d dive in at any sign of danger.

What. He categorizes a very drunk, very sexy Yamato Ishida as imminently dangerous. Everyone would.

He flinches when Yamato flicks him on the forehead, focusing back on his friend’s scowling face. “Don’t get distracted,” Yamato demands quietly, before grinding his hips down on Taichi’s in one fluid move.

Reflexively, Taichi bites down on the first piece of flesh he can reach, which is the junction between Yamato’s neck and shoulder. The blond’s answering moan goes straight to his dick so he decides to pay more attention to that spot, gently suckling on pale skin, his tongue flicking out every now and then to be met with Yamato’s quiet whimpers.

It’s a bizarre feeling, having Yamato shivering and melty in his arms. There’s nothing novel about it, their bodies don’t fit together perfectly and their hearts don’t beat to the same rhythm, but the differences, the distance, somehow makes it more real. Yamato’s in front of him, breathing, as near as he can get, and Taichi wants to fill the spaces between them with their mingled breaths. Wants them to keep exchanging each other’s air, for the illusion of ultimate dependency, as though Yamato can only survive by inhaling his air.

“Taichi,” Yamato’s called his name for the umpteenth time that night, and Taichi loves the way it falls from Yamato’s mouth. Loves it so much he can hear it for the rest of his life.

“Hm?” He responds simply.

“I’m about to put this,” Yamato’s fingers brush Taichi’s fly, a tingling sensation on his crotch, and he can’t suppress a helpless squeak, “inside of my mouth. Are you okay with that?”

It’s like asking the world if they’d like a cure for cancer or for the greenhouse gases to dissipate, and Taichi almost laughs out loud.

Taichi isn’t quite sure if he expresses his consent properly, but the resulting smile on Yamato’s face—equal parts eagerness and relief—makes him feel warm all over.

“Okay,” Yamato breathes out, and Taichi gulps at the way he squares his shoulders, determination evident in his eyes. “Okay.”

Deft fingers begin to undo his belt buckle, and he’s going to get the blowjob he’s been jerking off to for the last decade or so, but somehow the only thing that crosses his mind is how they haven’t even _kissed_ yet.

“Wait,” he says, and his heart constricts at the way Yamato’s face fall. “No, God, Yamato, of course I want you to continue, but,” he babbles, reassuring words spilling out even though Yamato never openly expresses his disappointment.

“I—” Taichi tries again, but words seem to fail him at this moment, so he cradles Yamato’s face in his hands, thumbs tracing circles on the apple of his cheeks, and hopes the message delivers.

Yamato, bless his soul, seems to understand him, and he readily bends down. Their foreheads knock gently, and Yamato’s face hovers above him, his lips parted and inviting, so Taichi dives in.

It isn’t exactly fireworks going off, but it’s pretty damn near, Taichi decides. His lips are bit wetter than Yamato’s and it provides a pleasant slide even before tongues get involved. After a series of pecks, Yamato bites down on his upper lip, tentative, and almost pulls off at Taichi’s surprised gasp. Taichi won’t have any of that, though, and he lays reassuring kisses that starts on Yamato’s chin and trails up until their lips are locked again.

Taichi pries Yamato’s mouth open with a soft hand on his jaw, pulling gently until his jaw unhinges and gives Taichi easy access. It doesn’t get too intense, surprisingly, only tiny prods of tongue on any part they can reach—teeth, gums, that sensitive patch of skin behind their lips—accompanied by muffled sounds of pleasure that Taichi wants to hear forever.

They separate with a tiny pop and Taichi feels his heart bursting in overwhelming happiness, because as far as first kisses go, that was _perfect_. His instinct tells him to hug Yamato tight, so that’s what he does, inhaling his clean, fresh scent, tainted with bitter undertones of alcohol but still _Yamato_.

“Hey, Taichi,” Yamato whispers, his hands raking through Taichi’s brown hair, no doubt messing it up even more, “let go, now. I want you inside my mouth. Come on.”

His voice holds a rare tender tone, and Taichi peppers kisses on his neck—delights in Yamato’s answering giggle—before letting him go.

He watches as Yamato settles properly, on his elbows and knees in front of Taichi’s sitting form, seemingly uncaring of grass stains on his clothing. He nuzzles on Taichi’s clothed erection before freeing it from its confines. He looks surprised—in a pleasant way, Taichi hopes—before his eyes soften again, falling shut as he lays a kiss on Taichi’s leaking tip.

Taichi’s hands settle on the grass, gripping tight and forcing himself not to push Yamato down.

Yamato starts at the base, open mouthed kisses accompanied by maddening flicks of warm tongue, while his hand services the head—rubbing circles on the tip to spread the dampness. He’s diligent and purposeful, progressing slowly but surely with his mouth going slacker by the seconds like he’s drowning in the act and God, Taichi loves nothing but a good buildup.

Taichi knows he gets wet easily, sometimes making it hard to hide wet spots when he’s inexplicably turned on. He’s leaking furiously now, immersed in the sensations on his dick and the accompanying visual stimulation because if someone can look unfairly pretty while slobbering on a cock, it’s Yamato Ishida. He’s lavishing broad licks now, always starting from the bottom, and Taichi relishes on his surprised gasp when a drop of Taichi’s precome trails down to land on his tongue, giving him a taste—maybe he doesn’t expect to taste it until he reaches the tip?

After it bursts on his taste buds and slides down slender throat when he gulps it down, Taichi watches Yamato exhale, all shuddery and a little helpless. His reaction makes Taichi shiver, going all the way down his spine to settle hotly in his balls.

“You’re so wet,” he hears Yamato say before he finally engulfs him, warm suction on the head of Taichi’s cock that has the brunette almost keeling over. Yamato’s mouth is hot, damp, _perfect_ , accepting and eager like he’s been wanting this as much as Taichi has, and God, isn’t that a pleasant thought.

It’s relatively quiet for a moment, only Yamato’s sucking sounds interspersed with Taichi’s hisses and moans. Yamato has his lips stretched wide, about halfway down now and Taichi’s brain—which has been working on a snail’s pace—finally registers that the blond is steadily working his way down. He hasn’t come up for air in a while, carefully breathing through his nose and humming rhythmically through it all, eyes shut in concentration.

“Amazing, Yamato,” he finds himself saying, half stupid with desire but no less sincere. He reaches for Yamato’s free hand and smiles when he holds on, loving the intimacy and reassurance in the gesture.

His mind is lost in a happy place, so the first sign of resistance catches him off guard. He jerks when he feels the head of his cock probing the tender opening of Yamato’s throat. Objection is on the tip of his tongue, but Yamato squeezes his hand tight, as if to say _let me_ , and Taichi wants to grant every single one of his wish.

God, it should hurt, shouldn’t it, fighting your gag reflex like that, but Yamato is nothing but relentless, painstakingly working his way further down in tiny increments. As his throat opens up for Taichi, he lets out a tiny choking sound, and Taichi’s eyes fly open in alarm. With shaking fingers, he brushes Yamato’s golden bangs away to take a good look at his face, and what he sees makes him falter.

Yamato’s face is considerably flushed, a slight frown wrinkles his forehead, and the pink ring of his lips is dangerously close to curls of wiry brown hair, and _just how much of Taichi has he managed to take in, oh God,_ Taichi’s frenzied inner voice supplies. A bead of tear settles on the corner of Yamato’s eye, and _it feels like heaven_ but Taichi’s protective instinct roars and he _needs_ to shake him off, but he’s too scared to move because he could inflict further damage, and oh my fucking God, _did he just suck?_

Taichi should know better than to trust his brain to make a narrative when Yamato is giving him a blowjob.

“Yamato,” he chokes, “shit, fucking _shit_ , you—”

Yamato chooses that moment to push down, going as deep as he can, nose pressed to Taichi’s pubic hair and throat flexing around his length. Taichi feels like something explodes behind his eyelids at how _good_ it feels, white noise ringing in his head and taking away his consciousness for split seconds of pure pleasure.

It’s _hotwettightheat_ and he feels pressure in his balls, everything in him screaming for release, to thrust into that all too welcoming heat and take take _take_. He doesn’t want that kind of one-sided pleasure, though, and is grateful to find restraint at the sight of tear tracks on flushed cheeks and Yamato’s hand in his, gripping tight enough to cut off circulation.

And then it gets dangerous when Yamato’s breathing kicks up a notch, desperate puffs of air on Taichi’s overheated skin. His face is an abnormal shade of red, and Taichi’s stomach drops.

“Hey, Yamato,” he tries, summoning remnants of articulacy, “hey, you’re not breathing right. Pull off, come on. Please pull off.”

Yamato makes a quiet noise of indignation, but Taichi isn’t up for negotiation. He curls strong fingers around waxen strands and pulls, forceful but not rough, and Yamato’s sharp fingernails dig into the fleshy part of Taichi’s palm as his last resort at rebellion before he finally gives in.

He pulls off in a slow, torturing motion, lips a tight circle around Taichi until he reaches the tip, where the need to breathe seems to overwhelm him that he takes a sudden intake of air. As a result of that, his mouth falls open and it _spills_. A mixture of spit and Taichi’s precome, viscous and copious, dripping down his dick only to pool at the base. It’s fucking _messy_ but also the single hottest thing Taichi’s ever witnessed.

He shakes his head and focuses back on Yamato, who’s now sitting on his haunches and taking huge lungful of air. Taichi scrambles to follow, worry and arousal warring inside of him.

“You okay?” He whispers, tries his hardest to ignore his still very prominent boner and the wet mess at its base.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Yamato replies, his voice is hoarse and wrecked and Taichi swallows in sympathy, “it’s harder than I thought, though, so is it okay if I, like, maybe try again some other time?”

 _Some other time,_ and Taichi feels his head spin. It’s a promise of another encounter, another chance to drown in Yamato, and Taichi almost vibrates with excitement despite their very weird predicament.

Wait.

“That was your first time deepthroating?”

God, the term feels dirty and crude and _impersonal_ , but Taichi’s mind isn’t exactly running thesaurus right now, so he settles with that.

“Yeah,” Yamato admits, then his eyes flash in alarm, “what, was I bad?”

He sounds insecure and maybe a little defiant, like he’s torn between admitting that there’s no way a first timer can do good enough (Taichi wants to roll his eyes because that was the fucking _best_ ) and wanting to say _I just put your dick in my throat, fucktard, you better show some gratitude._

Pretty, contradicting little bastard who’s too complex for anyone to read right through, and Taichi wouldn’t want him any other way.

He reaches up to put his hand on the slope of Yamato’s neck and lingers there, making circles with his thumb as if to soothe. It must have been painful, but Yamato’s tried his best, suppressed his discomfort in his effort of making it good for Taichi, and those tears he’s spilled are more precious than anything else.

“You were good,” he finds himself saying, solemn and reverent, “so good to me. Did I hurt you?”

Yamato’s quiet, and his eyes are still glassy with remnants of tears. The alcohol should still be in his system, but those blue pools are bright and sober, like still waters. Taichi can’t look away.

“You didn’t,” he finally replies, gaze averted, “idiot.”

The insult isn’t unexpected, but it still makes Taichi snicker. “Of course. Luckiest idiot in the universe, to be exact. Now what do you want to do? Anything you want, baby.”

Yamato’s head snaps up in surprise at the pet name, and he opens his mouth once like he wants to protest, but decides not to and closes it with a quiet exhale.

“I wanna continue,” he says, his eyes once again finding Taichi’s, “not with my throat. But I still want—” he swallows once, and his breathing hastens, “want you to come in my mouth.”

His eyes harden in resolve, like he wouldn’t take a no from Taichi, and Taichi’s heart gives a painful beat. So determinedly straight-forward, stubborn to a fault to hide a soft shyness underneath.

He quirks a smile, “I said anything you want, didn’t I? I meant every word.”

A chip of ice cracks off those arctic blue eyes, and Taichi yearns to make them melt, repels the coldness once and for all. Not today, maybe. Someday.

The hand on Yamato’s neck pulls him forward softly, gently. Urging. Pleading. Because Taichi doesn’t want to be forceful, wants Yamato to have control of his own vulnerable position. So benevolent, opening that lovely mouth to take Taichi in, and Taichi has learned the hard way not to take a blessing for granted.

Yamato’s breath hitches, and it sounds broken and wet, like he _understands_ , somehow, just how much he’s appreciated and cherished. He falls forward, forehead colliding almost painfully with Taichi’s shoulder and he buries his face there. A touch of wetness seeps through white cotton, and Taichi feels his own eyes sting. He rubs the spot where Yamato’s neck meets his spine while the blond peppers kisses right above his heart, slowly moving downwards until his face is on his crotch again.

There’s only confidence in the way he takes Taichi in this time, insecurity and fear laid scattered somewhere, discarded and forgotten, and Taichi smiles.

It feels, if possible, even better than before. Yamato alternates between gentle licks and hearty sucks, never taking Taichi’s cock down his throat but still going deep like he can’t get enough of Taichi. Of their closeness. And like he can’t wait to have it, a warm part of Taichi that’s been promised to him; wants it so bad for something of Taichi to be inside of him, however temporary.

That realization is, ultimately, what pushes Taichi careening towards the edge, and it only takes three more thorough sucks until Taichi gives it to him.

It’s a quiet orgasm, coaxed out of him in gentle shivers and reverent moans, but somehow feels more fulfilling than any other time Taichi had come screaming.

His vision is glass tinted with white dots of pleasure, but through the clear parts he sees the way Yamato’s throat works, swallowing in tiny gulps like he needs to savor the taste before taking it in. His hips are moving, rutting against the ground in desperate little stutters, spine arching, and the way the small of his back flows into his pert ass makes Taichi’s mouth water.

Yamato lets out a sound when he finally goes still, somewhere between a choke and a sob, and Taichi surges forward to take him into his arms. He kisses a spot behind Yamato’s ear and takes a deep breath, limbs loose and high on endorphins.

“Did you come?” Taichi asks, even though the visible wet spot on Yamato’s pants tells him more than enough.

Yamato nods, still trying to get his breathing under control and his lips are red, plumper than usual. He looks stunning, marked in the evidence of Taichi’s pleasure. He’s glad that Yamato is satisfied, but.

“Too bad. I’d wanted to return the favor.”

Taichi doesn’t miss the way Yamato goes tense in his hold.

“It’s fine,” he finally replies, “it’s not a competition, Taichi.”

Taichi barks out a laugh. “Who says it was? I just want to have you fall apart under me, that’s all.”

Yamato pulls back to look at him, his face scrunched up in disbelief. “How could you say that so casually,” he deadpans.

“‘cause it’s the truth,” Taichi says, shrugging. “Would you let me, though?”

Yamato’s eyes dart to Taichi’s lips, and he wets them in response just to see Yamato’s eyes glaze over.

“Yeah,” he admits, quietly. “Of course I’d let you.”

Taichi grins and flails his arms. Yamato rolls his eyes before indulging him, anyway, fitting himself inside of his embrace. Taichi buries his face in blond hair before finding Yamato’s ear to whisper his words right inside.

“As lovely as it would be to suck you off,” Taichi pauses, building the tension, “I kinda want to eat you out even more.”

An all-out shiver breaks on Yamato’s body, little tremors that also reverberate through Taichi.  

“Taichi...” he breathes, sounding helpless and maybe more than a little turned on.

It’s exhilarating to have Yamato like this, his stubbornness subdued by orgasm, confused between fulfillment and want, like he can’t decide if his body has had enough or if it wants more.

“Would you like that? My tongue in your ass, maybe some of my fingers, too, because I wanna go deep, gotta open you up,” Taichi feels fingers in his hair and a whimper by his ear, “wanna see inside of you, Yamato, fuck, wanna _taste_ you.”

“Taichi, I—”

The moment is interrupted by a shrill voice coming from somewhere on their right. It turns out to be Yamato’s phone, alerting an incoming call from someone, and disappointment washes over Taichi like cold water. He lets the blond go with reluctant fingers and watches as he wobbles to where the device is. Yamato almost trips on jelly legs, and Taichi reflexively snickers in amusement.

It turns out he isn’t being discreet, because Yamato throws a glare his way before picking up his phone. He glances at the screen and sighs before pressing some buttons. “Go ahead, Koushiro,” he says, and beckons for Taichi to come closer.

“Yamato-san?” Koushiro’s voice is tinny, and he sounds calm as usual. “Can you hear me? I can’t reach Taichi-san’s phone, so I hope he didn’t run into trouble. The signal from his Digivice shows that he’s near you, though. Are you together?”

Taichi’s heart skips a beat at the double meaning and he sneaks a peek at Yamato’s face. His expression gives nothing away, a complete turnaround to how he was just seconds ago.

“Yeah, he’s with me,” Yamato says simply, “he’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Good,” Koushiro decides, “If he lost his Digivice, I’d be tempted to let him spend one night in the Digital World. I’d be doing him a favor.”

Yamato chuckles at Koushiro’s barely veiled exasperation and Taichi scowls. Sometimes they still treat him like the reckless, clumsy boy he used to be, no matter how established he’s gotten at his job.

“Anyway,” Koushiro starts again, “Your position is quite far even from the nearest operating gate, so I’ve contacted Agumon and Gabumon. They must be on their way to where you are right now.”

Something in Taichi perks up at the mention of Agumon, and he can see that it affects Yamato just the same, because his eyes glint in barely concealed excitement. As if on cue, Taichi hears a shrill, hoarse voice calling for his name from some distance away, and he whips his head to said voice’s direction.

Agumon is a blur of orange on green grass, wobbling excitedly to where Taichi is, and Taichi feels like he’s ten again as a wide grin breaks on his face. Before he knows it, he’s running to meet Agumon halfway, and they clash together in a flurry of wild movements and loud laughter. Agumon is smaller than Taichi remembers, and it’s easy for Taichi to pick him up and shake him around, and Taichi _misses_ him so much, his most precious friend.

“I miss you so much, Taichi!” Agumon exclaims, and Taichi grins even wider, happy to know that the sentiment is returned, “Koushiro told me that Yamato might be with you, so I’ve brought Gabumon. Hey, where is he?”

Taichi looks behind him and sees Gabumon, still some feet away from where Yamato is standing. Gabumon is decidedly quieter than Agumon—and much more graceful—walking towards Yamato in a slow, steady pace. When he reaches him, Yamato readily kneels down to his level and the smile on his face makes Taichi’s heart clench. It’s wistful and happy and serene, and Taichi’s once again reminded of how Gabumon is the only one in the world to have ever seen the real Yamato, completely raw and devoid of his defense mechanisms, something not even Taichi is privy of.

“How have you been, Gabumon?” Yamato asks, hands running through Gabumon’s fur jacket like he’s reassuring himself that he’s _real_ , that Gabumon is really in front of him.

“I’ve been alright. You look healthy, Yamato. I’m glad.”

When they finally embrace, it’s slow and lengthy, filled with so much yearning that even Agumon falls quiet. Taichi tightens his hold on him, because seeing Yamato and Gabumon like this, tangled together like this might be the last time ( _this might_ , his rational mind supplies) makes the urge to hold on to Agumon get stronger.

“I really miss you, Agumon,” he chokes, and damn that Yamato for making him emotional.

“I know, Taichi,” Agumon says easily, his muzzle snuggled on Taichi’s stomach and Taichi wants to bring him home, to feel Agumon’s presence by his side for the rest of his life. Yet he also needs to come home. Adulthood comes about without invitation, wearing him down with wisdom and responsibilities. He loves his job, he really does, but he’d drop everything at the chance to go on an adventure once again.

It’s a subject of a daydream, though, too bright to fit into the reality of his mundane life, and he smiles in bitterness.

“Yamato,” he calls, and Yamato finally lifts his head from where he’s been hiding it in Gabumon’s soft fur. He looks surprised to see Taichi and Agumon there, as though his reunion with Gabumon has narrowed his world to just the two of them. Taichi should feel left out but he doesn’t, because the way Yamato loves Gabumon is another aspect of Yamato that Taichi loves wholeheartedly.

“We gotta go back,” he reminds him, and hates to be the one to put that disappointed frown on Yamato’s face.

“It’s okay, Yamato,” Gabumon reassures, his paw engulfing Yamato’s hand, “I’m here to take you to the gate. We’ll meet again, I know we will!”

Gabumon’s conviction makes Yamato’s eyes grow wide, round and blue and sad like they used to be when they were children. Taichi elbows Agumon to try to get him to do something, _anything_ , that could lighten up the mood, because he can only take so much of sad Yamato in one day.

Agumon, perfect Agumon, understands him in a heartbeat.

“Aaaa~h, and I thought you guys stopped by to give us some food,” Agumon grumbles, purposefully loud, “turns out you just got lost. Taichi hasn’t grown up, after all.”

Taichi’s jaw twitches, and he’s tempted to tell Agumon just how much of an _adult_ he is. He’s just had the most amazing blowjob of his life, thank you very much, but Yamato would undoubtedly gauge his eyes out if he ever let his mouth loose in front of Gabumon, so he swallows it down.

“Yeah, and your stomach is still a bottomless pit!” he counters, and Agumon squawks before answering _same goes to you!_

It starts a whole new wave of argument, thrown back and forth and out of control, only to stop abruptly when he hears Yamato’s guffaw. He looks like he’s thoroughly entertained, the little bastard, and Taichi longs to kiss that silly expression off his face.

Yamato quiets down, eventually, and he focuses back on Gabumon, patting his head with a gentle hand while murmuring, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Looking down at his phone, Yamato finds that Koushiro has disconnected already. He turns to Agumon and says, “You guys know where it is?”

“Of course!” Gabumon answers readily, and he’s surrounded by a bright, blue glow just as Agumon is engulfed in orange. He can feel his Digivice reacting inside of his pocket, and it’s been so long since he’s seen their evolution. It never fails to amaze him every single time.

Garurumon and Greymon materialize from where their child forms used to be, so much bigger but no less cuddly for their respective partners, evident from the way both Yamato and Taichi rush forward to smother themselves in soft hairs.

Both the Digimons laugh, a liberating, tingling sound that leaves Taichi feeling equal parts joyful and solemn.

Yamato hops onto Garurumon’s back with lithe grace, and Taichi’s reminded of the vision he’d had earlier. His imagination didn’t do them justice, he thinks, because they look even more majestic and beautiful than the images he’d conjured before. It’s almost like the moon is reacting to their union; shining even more brightly to illuminate, its glow fitting like second skin on pale skin and soft fur.

He’s so glad to be able to witness it once again.

“Hey, Taichi,” Greymon’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, “climb on!  We don’t have all day.”

With a click of his tongue, Taichi uses what’s left of the physicality he used to have as an athlete to climb up Greymon’s body. The beast helps him halfway, and soon enough he settles on Greymon’s back, and he must admit that he loves the view from here.

Garurumon suddenly lets out a howl, stealing his attention, and he looks down to see Yamato grinning unabashedly.

“Race you to the extraction point?” he taunts, voice light and teasing, and the remnants of childhood rivalry sparks within him, burning a familiar fire.

“Don’t be a sore loser when you lose!” he exclaims.

Yamato’s answering laugh—bright and unrestrained—makes him fall in love over and over again. “You wish!”

Greymon isn’t a match for Garurumon’s speed and stealth, Taichi knows, but he enjoys the competition just the same. The chilly wind feels good against his face, and he can feel Greymon trying hard to keep up with Garurumon’s light, swift paws with his large, thundering steps. He lays a hand on Greymon’s head armor and gives him a happy grin, a reassurance that he doesn’t really care whether he wins or loses.

He only wants to have fun with his best friends in the world.

It seems to satisfy Greymon because he slows down a fraction, giving Taichi the chance to look around and observes the Digital World from Greymon’s perspective. Its beautiful landscape stretches endlessly in front of them, and Taichi’s heart squeeze painfully at the thought of having to leave so fast.

Eventually, they reach another clearing where Garurumon and Yamato have arrived first. Yamato’s in the middle of whispering into Garurumon’s ear when he finally registers Greymon’s presence. His face lights up in apparent glee and what little annoyance Taichi has inside of him vanishes at the sight of that smile.

“I win,” he states, a little smug and his hair is a bit messy from the wind. Taichi is willing to lose for the rest of his life if it means making him smile like that.

“Don’t get too smug,” Taichi counters as he slides down Greymon’s body effortlessly, delights in the way Yamato’s eyes follow his movements all too closely.

“Whatever,” he mumbles before swinging long legs to unmount Garurumon, landing with poise on the ground. He looks right and left before saying, “do you have any idea how we can reach Koushiro?”

As a response, a disembodied voice reverberates through the clearing, “Can you hear me Yamato-san, Taichi-san?”

Taichi jerks in surprise. “Christ, Koushiro. Warn a guy, will you?”

Koushiro ignores him and continues in a clinical tone, “I believe you have personal computers at your homes?”

Yamato lets out an affirmative sound and Taichi nods before realizing that Koushiro may not be able to look at him, so he says, “Yes. But I left it turned off, I think.”

“That’s not a problem,” Koushiro reassures, “I can power them up from here. I’ll open two gates from where you are, connected straight to your personal computers at home. That way we can minimize the hassle.”

Taichi is more than a little disturbed by the fact that Koushiro is able to hack his personal computer—it contains various documents which are not disclosable to the public, after all—but swallows his comment because the tech genius is the only one who can bring him home. He glances at Yamato, who’s already at Garurumon’s side, face pressed to the great wolf’s snout, and it finally hits home.

They’re going to be sent straight home to their respective living quarters.

It’s a dilemma; he wants to ask Koushiro to send them both back to his apartment, but it will inevitably lead to uncomfortable questions that he isn’t sure Yamato is ready to answer. Not yet, anyway.

A part of him—petulant and egotistical—wants to riot at the idea of having to let Yamato go. Not this early. Not when they’ve just been _so close_ , and what’s the point of going back to their lives if that means getting separated once more?

He doesn’t address it, though, maintains a tough disposition and approaches Greymon to distract himself. He has just devolves into Agumon, once more small and plump, and having him in his arms makes Taichi feels better, even if just a fraction.

He says goodbye, uncharacteristically soft because he doesn’t trust his voice, and feels Agumon nod against his chest. Something in his stomach twists because it’s fucking ironic how he’s just had everything he’s ever wanted in his palms—Yamato, Agumon—for them to be taken away from him in a span of minutes. This magical night doesn’t seem so enchanted at its grand finale, it seems.

“Taichi,” Yamato calls, a somber expression on his face. Gabumon is pressed to his legs, almost like he’s not quite ready to let go, and Taichi can relate.

“So,” Taichi says, forcing a grin, “see you on the other side?”

Yamato sees right through his fake cheerfulness, it seems, because his frown deepens. Taichi can’t really blame him. The clearing is heavy with silence, the rustling of grass the only sound, because even Agumon and Gabumon do not dare speak, sensing the growing tension between their partners.

There are so many things he wants to say—don’t go, don’t leave me just yet, let’s be together, _I love you_ —but Koushiro is able to hear everything they say and the threat of fucking up this delicate balance between them weighs heavily in his mind.

He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t see the intent in Yamato’s eyes; doesn’t see it when his friend steps forward until they’re only inches away. He almost jumps at the sensation of chapped lips on his cheek, tentative but _so real, so warm,_ and his eyes grow wide as saucers.

Yamato is fast to step back, eyes darting everywhere but at Taichi. It’s truly mesmerizing how naturally bashful he really is, beneath all those carefully constructed layers. Taichi’s aware he’s staring, but nothing can force him to look away, really.

“I’ll see you later,” Yamato finally forces out, already walking towards Gabumon and leaving Taichi there, an undoubtedly moronic expression pasted on his face. He can’t really hear anything, so he kind of ignores Agumon’s enthusiastic squeals of _Taichi! Taichi! What happened between you two? Hey, come on, Taichi, answer me!_

Gabumon is smiling in that inscrutable way of his, paws nudging Yamato’s thigh and saying something that sounds like, “Good for you, Yamato,” only for his partner to hiss an urgent _shut up_.

It’s unreal and amazing and a manic laughter bubbles out of him. God, he’s so fucking relieved. So, so, relieved and grateful and in love.

“Of course,” he manages in between laughter, forcing Yamato to look back at him through sheer will and congratulates himself when he succeeds, “I’ll see _you_ , Yamato.”

Both of them maintains eye contact for a moment before Yamato breaks it first, shaking his head like he can’t believe himself for voluntarily getting tangled with Taichi Yagami. The smile on his face tells a different story, though, and it’s the last thing Taichi sees before he feels an invisible force pulling at every fiber of his body. Recognizing it as the gate activating, he quickly turns toward Agumon to shout a hasty, _I’ll miss you, I swear we’ll meet again!_

Yamato’s voice cracks when he promises the same thing to Gabumon, and Taichi longs to gather him in his arms and comfort him, but the force pulling him is too strong to fight.

A few seconds pass, and he’s standing alone in front of his computer in his empty bachelor pad. He blinks once, twice, still disorientated and wondering if it’s all been a crazy dream.

 

***

 

Working himself off all through the week is the only way he can push the events of that fateful night out of his head. That night, alone in his apartment, he had managed to convince himself that he wasn’t dreaming, that the images of Yamato on that clearing—pliant and warm and beautiful and _so close_ —are pieces of memories instead of a very elaborate fantasy.

It doesn’t give him the courage to contact him, though.

He’s had too many occasions of scrolling through his phone, lingering on Yamato’s contact information before deciding against it and telling himself it had been because of his _enormous_ workload. To be frank, he had finished a week worth of work in three days and had only been avoiding the inevitable confrontation with the blond for the last few days.

Bearer of the crest of courage, his ass.

A text message from Sora simultaneously resolves and worsens his troubles, though. The content is quite simple—informing him of their annual get together at Mimi’s place, scheduled for the weekend. Damn that woman and her psychic ability to see through his woes, even when she isn’t aware of them.

Three days later, he finds himself at Mimi’s house, trying his hardest to enjoy the so-called party. Yamato is there, naturally, dressed comfortably in a white shirt and a black cardigan, so effortlessly gorgeous that Taichi’s almost convinced he can explode due to sheer frustration.

He has so many things he wants to say, but cowers almost instantly when the blond levels him with his bright blue gaze. Yamato strides to where he is, wordlessly offers a red party cup for Taichi which the brunette receives with a mumbled _thanks_. Without warning, he crowds into Taichi’s personal space in one swift move.

“You owe me a very thorough eating out, Mr. Ambassador.”

Taichi looks up and sees blue eyes gleaming with mirth and mischief. A surprised bark of laugh forces its way out of Taichi’s throat, and not long after, Yamato joins in. They beam at each other, and it’s easy, so easy, to pull him in by the neck and plants a chaste kiss on rosy lips.

The room goes eerily quiet for some painful seconds, and Yamato is visibly stunned, his cheeks going pale only to flush a lovely pink a second after. Taichi has always been tactless, but he feels like he’s outdone himself this time.

Someone exclaims _about damned time!_ and the mood lightens again when a chorus of laughter quickly follows. Taichi gapes in surprise and his darting eyes find Mimi, who’s leaning heavily against Hikari, her body still shaking with laughter; Daisuke, whose face resembles a gaping fish; Jyou, who’s smiling pensively; and Sora, who has a big, knowing smile on her face, sending Taichi a not-so-surreptitious wink. That’s when it finally sinks in.

Taichi has just outed them—are they even official?—in front of every single one of their friends, including their siblings.

“You are so stupid,” Yamato states, but his voice carries not even a hint of annoyance and the soft lines of his face offsets the biting remark.

“Yeah, fuck you all,” Taichi decides, slamming his half full red cup on the nearest table and wraps his hand around Yamato’s wrist. He drags him straight to the front entrance and exclaims a _so long, suckers!_ that triggers another bout of guffaws. The loud, admittedly annoying noise is muffled as soon as the two of them is outside, standing next to each other in the cold September night.

“Now what?” Yamato asks, his eyes glinting eagerly. The pulse beneath Taichi’s fingertips picks up ever so slightly, and Taichi’s heart is quick to follow its rhythm.

Taichi answers him with a grin and shrugs because truthfully, he has no idea. He doesn’t know what’s next, but he can’t wait for the two of them to finally begin.


End file.
